Our flight was the cheapest of the cheap, meaning
that we were arriving in Bali at 3:00 in the morning. We knew we were going to try to head to Kuta,
which was the really touristy area, but we didn’t know much after that.
So we went through customs, immigration, and then
came out into the arrival area of the airport.
Now what? Joe advised that we
take a little bit of money out at the ATM to get us started, so we got in
line. When it was our turn at the
machine, it spit our card out with a declined message. We let the friendly Irish couple we chatted
with go ahead of us to see if their transaction worked. It did.
We tried again. Nothing.
Most of the arrivals were gone at this point, and
we were among only a handful of dazed looking tourists still around. We got the attention of the security guard
who was standing guard in front of the money changer and asked him why it
didn’t work. His English was almost non-existent,
but we were able to get a few words through, “machine-card-no-work-no-money.” He did look genuinely interested in helping
us, despite the muddled meaning we only barely managed to pass to him. So he took out his own card and tested the
machine, pulling out a small amount. If
I were the security guard, my scam radar would totally be up and I would lie
about not having a card to test it, but this guy not only was willing to help
us, he even offered up his own card without us having to ask him to go that
far.
Anyway, his worked. We tried again, and we put in a smaller amount
and voila! We thanked him and continued
to the taxi stand. It had been hopping
and busy while we were sorting out the ATM issue, but once we accomplished
that, it was abandoned. They saw us
coming, but Joe had done his research and knew what we should be paying. He tried to charge us double; a taste of what
was to come from most Indonesian interactions.
The sign next to the counter gave a price breakdown, and he was definitely
way above that. We said no way, look at
your own stinking sign. Eventually we
got them down to a price closer to what we thought we should be paying.
Then of course as soon as he dropped us off at
Kuta Square, he ‘didn’t have the right change’ so we paid extra thanks to
that. We still felt okay about that. Though it was a “welcome to South East Asia”
moment as we would find out for the next few months.
The square was deserted and running off it was a
street with brightly-lit signs, even at this time of the morning. We saw the American embassy straight
away—those beautiful golden arches! I’d
like to say that I never go to those kinds of Western establishments, but when
you travel, it really can be like a refuge of air-conditioning, comforting
calories, and best of all, free wifi. So
we ordered some burgers and set our giant bags down on the floor and sat down
to scour the internet for some sort of clue as to what we should do next. I hadn’t really wanted to have to pay full
price for only a partial night, but we couldn’t just hang out in McDonald’s for
eleven hours as we waited for the check-in times for the hostels and
hotels. The internet was not looking
very promising for finding places nearby, but it did tell us that if there were
any place in Indonesia where we could find a hotel with an open reception at
that hour, it was definitely in Kuta.
So we slung our bags back on and took to the
streets. The people around were not the
most wholesome looking people, but it definitely could have been worse. I’ve slept on a staircase in a bus station
before because the security guard took pity on me out in the rain hiding in the
shadows so the drunk men would leave me alone when I was stranded waiting for a
bus. These men on the streets were at least
just laughing at us, but mostly leaving us alone. That was manageable.
We went around to a few places in the first
couple of blocks asking for room prices.
We were looking at $150 AUD per night with most of them. I saw a sign for cheap beds, but it looked
like it was going into a recessed area off the street and Joe didn’t trust
it. We checked a couple more places with
no better prices, and even less availability.
A few places were closed for the night altogether.
Joe was to the point where he was getting ready
to spend a huge amount for a room, but I managed to convince him that the
recessed passage to the cheaper place looked lit well enough to trust to scope
out. We carefully went back and up the
stairs where we found a reception, though it was abandoned. We dinged the bell several times and
eventually a man came out of a room behind us sleepily and helped us. The room was something like $21 per night for
both of us, including breakfast and wifi.
Sold. The guy was very
accommodating, though mostly asleep, and the room was lovely. The hotel was one floor of a building that
had a courtyard in the center that were lined with little touristy stalls on
the bottom. There was a beautiful
balcony connecting all the rooms around the courtyard, with flowers and
ornamental plants on the railings. The
room was comfortable. We thanked the man
and passed out for the night.
We woke up in Bali. :) The
morning was light and airy and we could hear birds and the street noises. Our room had a tub, our own bathroom (western
toilet with a bidet hose, which we would learn to appreciate), and our own set
of chairs out on the balcony where the receptionist of the hotel served us
breakfast: toast and jam, along with ingredients to make coffee. It was so lovely to sit out there!
I already felt at peace. The last month in Australia had been amazing,
but also a little hard on our relationship and our bodies. Sleeping out under the desert stars with a
laser-straight horizon in every direction and a campfire lighting up the faces
of our other three travel companions was unlike anything I’d ever
experienced. But with close quarters,
lack of sleep, lack of showers, food stress, my PMS (the biggest factor in our
hardships), and all the other pressure-cooker forces that made it so difficult
at times, we came away totally exhausted.
We agreed that we would take it easy in Bali for as many days as it took
to recuperate. And relax we did!
We went out for a walk when we woke up, and got
to see the beauty of Bali. We didn’t do
much that first day, as we had slept through most of it. Even still, a night full of lights, sounds,
and touts trying to sell us anything exhausted us and we were in bed by 8:30.
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| My first photo of Indonesia was magical and indicative |
The next few days we spent using the internet at
the hotel to get caught up on a few things, walking around the city and out on
the beach, and shopping for a few things.
We took it really slow and really easy.
One night we ate at an Italian place whose pizza we had sampled out on
the street the day before. We spoke with
the waiter in Italian, so we felt super cool.
I took baths at least two times a day, since I
love them and haven’t had access to a bath more than a handful of times in the
last year and a half. Side note, my
fondness for baths has developed for a couple of reasons. First of all, I used to love drawing a bath
in my own apartment in Spain in order to warm up when I couldn’t get the heat
pump to satisfy my warmth needs. I loved
taking my lunch to my apartment and relax with it in the bath, which generally
meant I would drop a few bits here and there and would end up sitting in a very
watery soup. Hehe. Too much information, maybe.
I also loved baths in our apartment in Idaho
Falls, when I was getting migraines every day and tried to soothe them away in
the tub.
Anyway, we took at least a good four days just in
Kuta relaxing. We got massages together
for about $7 AUD per hour. (Sorry, I
speak in Australian dollars now, but not because I’m trying to be snooty… it’s
just that our jobs in Port Douglas were six months in length, meaning six
months of making Australian dollars, having not dealt with or earned American
dollars for a year and a half now. My
apologies. I know Joe could tell you the
approximate exchange rate right now, but I sadly don’t pay attention to that
kind of stuff.) I did a little shopping
for things that I would want to keep for myself, and some souvenirs to have as
peace offerings when we show our faces again in Idaho! I went out once by myself to shop, and once
finished we agreed we would meet for lunch at the same place we ate on our
first day.
The plan was always to wait until we got to South
East Asia to send some of our stuff home.
We had all this camping gear that was so useful to us, especially in the
last month, but camping in Asia would be silly.
It would have been stupid expensive to send stuff from Australia, so we
planned to spend a day or two getting things ready and sending them home while
in Kuta.
We were so laid back the first few days that we
realized the clock on our one month visa was clicking a little fast. So we decided we would try to leave the next
day after sending the bags and camping gear home. But we still didn’t know if we would even be
able to send everything (maybe the bag would be prohibitively expensive to
send, or maybe they would just be like, no way, you’ll have to send it through
a private company, or maybe the office would be closed or something like that),
we weren’t sure if we would need to stay another night, regroup, and try again. If it DID work, that would mean I would then
have to get back to the hotel in time to grab Joe, walk a long way to find the
two new backpacks we had picked out, buy them and then pack everything up in
time to check out at 12:00 noon.
So our only option was to send me off early in
the morning in a taxi with the gear, get to the office as it was opening, work
out the posting, and then make it back to Joe in time to either pay for another
night or check out as planned. It wasn’t
a great plan because plenty could go wrong and since Joe didn’t have a phone, I
couldn’t call him, and I didn’t know if I could get internet around the post
office long enough to send him an email telling him to either check out or pay
for another night.
But it went off pretty well, other than the fact
that I had to tell the taxi driver where to go because, contrary to what he had
acted like at first, he had no idea how to get where I needed to go. It was more expensive than we had hoped to
send the thing, but it was worth it to have our stuff sent home safe. I wrapped that up within twenty minutes, went
out and found a taxi right away, got him to head towards Kuta Square, and back
to Joe with plenty of time. Joe was surprised
to hear me knocking on the door so early.
We grabbed wallets and headed out to find our new
bags. Mine was an easy purchase, even
though it was almost guaranteed a fake North Face instead of the real thing,
but no worries. Other than the zipper, which
needs patience, it’s been a good pack.
Joe’s was a little harder. He vacillated between a few different
designs, unable to decide, but eventually he did and we were headed back to the
hotel to check out.
We had gathered our stuff together the night
before and sorted through what we would send home, what we would take with us,
and what we could manage to part from.
Everything fit, though Joe’s backpack was pretty small, meaning fitting
his stuff in there was pretty tight. He
shaved off a few items here and there and it all fit.
My bag was a bit bigger, which was good because I
have a bit more stuff. Of course I hid a
few items from Joe at the bottom of the bag that I wasn’t ready to part with
yet, but that is pretty par for the course at this point. :) He
has come to expect it.
We felt so much freer! We no longer had to have a plan for where to
set down our bags when we needed a break, we could enter stores without having
to entirely unload first, as long as we were careful.
We walked towards the bus “station” I had seen on
our backpack mission, but once we got there we found that all the seats on the
buses for that day were filled going to Ubud.
We had heard that a taxi would do the trip for an amount that, split
four ways would be cheaper for everyone than the bus itself. So the next pair of backpackers who
approached the counter to glance at the boards and hear that the Ubud seats
were taken, we asked if they would want to split a taxi with us. They were thrilled to do it! We piled into one very shortly after, having
bargained for a good price, and off we went!
Then there came the moment that was the second
one for me that day when I realized the driver really had no idea how to get to
where we were going, even though he had originally made it sound like he knew
the route well. He kept calling friends
while driving, I assume to get help guiding him to Ubud. I was watching the GPS progression on my
phone and we missed a couple of major turns on the way. Eventually we said something and yep! he
didn’t really know where he was going.
We guided him using our devices, but it took a lot of time to undo the
missed turns.
As it turns out, this is pretty common in
Indonesia and is even expected. The
guidebooks say that locals have the best of intentions, but when you ask for
directions, or in our case, ask to go somewhere by taxi, the person will
earnestly try to help, even though he has no idea. It’s strange.
This would happen a few more times while we were in Indonesia.
We finally made it close to Ubud, but traffic was
awful. We moved maybe a half block in
ten minutes. Eventually we bailed and
thought we would walk, but the taxi driver took us getting our stuff from the
trunk as everyone exiting the car. Even
though we tried to explain that the other girls were going to continue in the
taxi until he took them straight to their hotel, he basically kicked them
out. I think he was tired of the traffic
and wanted us all out. I felt bad
because had we just stayed in the car, we could have dropped them off. But the longer we stayed in that shitty
traffic with them, the farther away from the city that we would get, something
we didn’t want to do. The French girls
seemed mad at us for causing this, even though it was not our intention. We decided it was best to say goodbye to them
quickly so they could bitch about us together.
We purchased a SIM for my phone, which cost way
more than it should have, but because we waited until Ubud to buy it, the price
was probably inflated heavily since Ubud is heavy with tourists.
 |
| A woman about to sit side-saddle on the back of a moped in temple garb with a giant bowl of fruit on her head |
I was so mad at the process, but I wrote the two
places and explained what had happened and waited hopefully for a
response. In the meantime, Joe bought
the SIM, I moved restaurants and then we moseyed up the street to a little café
shop (a warung) that sold iced coffee
type things for around 60 cents! They
were so good!
The woman in the shop talked to us a little and
it was actually quite pleasant. She
remains one of the few people we remember in all of Indonesia that we could
have a normal conversation with. I say
this even though she did sell us on staying at her uncle’s homestay, but she
was nice about this. It felt like most Indonesians up
to this point had seen us only as a walking dollar bill. It was nice that she saw our faces too.
She even let us charge my phone as well. It was just about dead, yet we were still
waiting on a response from the two AirBnBs, so I was nervous that if I ran out
of battery, we would have no idea what was going on. And she was like, by all means, plug in. Which of course gave us time for another
round of drinks and some light conversation with Copang, our new friend.
For anyone who has read Eat, Pray, Love, you
might recognize Copang as a birth-order name.
Indonesians, and maybe Balinese specifically, refer to one another using
the birth-order name. I don’t remember
what Copang means, but it is something like “fourth sister.”
We went and checked out her uncle’s homestay up
the street. It was beautiful. The “compound,” which consists of many
buildings raised up on varying levels of foundations (they’re all raised a
little differently to one another for some reason, but what that is I cannot
remember—status? confuse bad spirits?), was peaceful, with songbirds in big cages
tweeting happily and winding paths between small gardens and little porches to
sit on in the mornings and evenings and a common area that would be like our
living room, but for them was open-air and full of cushions around a low chair.
 |
| The peaceful atmosphere of the Gusti Nyoman homestay |
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| A not-so-good shot of the door that doesn't begin to do it justice |
Once we had accepted the room, put our bags down,
and gone to sit on the lovely porch area in the evening light, Copang came and
talked to us for a while. She seemed
very happy to have gotten our business for her uncle, but even happier to have
had good conversation with us, which was very heartening.
The evening on the porch was so peaceful. We listened to the birds and watched the
light fade. Copang’s uncle (Nyoman,
another birth order name) also came to talk to us. He was an interesting dude, sort of shy, but
aware that he needed to be friendly to his guests.
I laid down for a little while for a rest, but
Joe went out to the living area to socialize.
There was a lot of laughing out there, so I eventually joined them. Two Chinese young women and a Chinese young
man were sitting on cushions around the low table with Joe. We met officially, and I soon learned that
they were all there doing various volunteer projects. I can’t remember now what they were, but I do
remember that at least one or two of them volunteered with children, which of
course is one of the most rewarding volunteering you can do.
One girl reminded me of Hermione Granger—smart,
driven, and pretty nerdy. The other two
seemed like good people, though a little more average than Hermione’s
book-smarts. Joe, like he does, tried to
learn their Chinese names, which was funny because it is so hard. Joe loves learning languages like me, but I
won’t touch the Asiatics with a ten-foot pole because it seems too hopeless for
me. Anyone who takes that on is
extraordinarily brave and intelligent.
There was another girl who joined us after a
while. She was perky and had a very
familiar accent and turned out to be Canadian.
She was loud and enthusiastic.
She was a volunteer with the others and was scheduled to end the volunteer
program soon.
We eventually played Chinese cards, which I
barely understood, but it started to bring out some funny characteristics. The young man started to show his slow
reaction time, the Hermione showed her neuroticism, and the final girl showed
her fiercely competitive side, no matter how much she pretended that being
anything less than a winner was fine by her.
It was funny. She got so intense
when she realized the Americans were beating her.
Losing in the game meant having to wear paper on
your face. Why? I don’t know.
But apparently it’s a Chinese way of punishing the losers.
There were also a couple of other people who
would walk past and say hello to the others, including a couple of Americans
and some Saudi Arabians. It was a lovely
little melting pot.
We went to bed late but happy.
Morning out on our porch was even better than
evening. It was very still and the
morning sun was so warming. The family
was up and about, dressed in nice clothes and putting out the little offering
baskets that included a mix of many items for the Hindu gods. The Hinduism in Bali is different than that
of India, but sort of in a way that reflects the quiet lives of the country’s
people. The lady would take around each
small basket to each building, light incense, bow, and go on to the next. It was really nice.
 |
| Morning fruit and coffee with a view of the gardens |
As soon as they noticed we were awake on the
porch, they brought us fruit, coffee, and banana pancakes. So amazing.
Life was good sitting out there in the morning sun with breakfast, birds
and beauty, not to make it seem cheesy.
 |
| Smile! I love breakfast and coffee |
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| Helmet heads! |
We first tried to go to the monkey forest, but
had a hard time finding it and after going around the city a bit, it felt
really intense, so we started heading up into the hills to the north. We stopped many times to take pictures of the
rice paddies, which were so picturesque it hurt. You know back when you would flip through the
Encyclopedia Britannica or a National Geographic and you would see photos of toothless
men beaming out from under cone-shaped grass weaved hats, standing knee-deep in
a rice field full of water? That shit’s
not made up. It’s real and stupid
common.
 |
| This is their tiller machine. I have absolutely no idea how the thing works. |
 |
| The long-awaited rice paddies! |
 |
| Even more! Look at the patterns, very cool. |
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| Roadside shops selling their handiwork |
We turned around until we found someone whose
English was good enough that we could understand that the police often set up
road blocks in the area and stop tourists like us on motorcycles, ask to see
the international license, and then demand an exorbitant amount of money as a
fine. Then they would keep it for themselves. Because they’re corrupt.
Corrupt police make me feel two things: paranoid,
and extremely lucky. Paranoid because I
would feel totally powerless in that situation because of language barrier and
because I am a foreigner. Lucky because
except for a few sensational stories here and there, we don’t deal with corrupt
police at all at home. I mean, sure, we
all hate getting pulled over for going five over the speed limit, but that fine
that you will get isn’t corruption, it’s legal procedure. We’re lucky to live in a place where, by and
large, going to the police for help is both possible and safe. In Ecuador, my program leader was sort of
like, yeah, if you get robbed, it’s pretty much tough luck and involving the
police will do you no good, Los policias
would cat-call us just as much as any other greasy low-life.
The guy who spoke pretty good English asked if we
liked coffee and if we would like to try Luwak coffee. Luwak is a fascinating coffee because it is
made from beans that have passed through the digestive system of a
mongoose. Yep, it’s taken from the poop.
He showed us his family’s coffee plantation and
we got to see the mongoose, the man roasting beans over an open fire, and the
coffee plants.
They offered us a tasting
of the various coffees they made on-site and offered us a Luwak coffee for
around $5. According to them, the Luwak coffee
beans sell for huge amounts of money internationally, which I’m not sure I
totally believe, but we got to see cool things and get a free taster tray, and
since $5 is about what you would spend in the States for a coffee at
Starbuck’s, we were totally cool with paying that.
 |
| Regular coffee beans on the left, pooped out luwak beans in the center, and colorful offering to the gods on the right. |
 |
| The man hand-roasts the beans |
 |
| Poor little mongoose. I hated that they had him all caged up. |
The Luwak coffee was interesting—the digestive
system of the mongoose apparently doesn’t break the beans down, but apparently
this makes the flavor smoother. It did
seem smoother than the regular coffee they gave us on the tasting tray, so that
was cool. Otherwise I really loved the
lemongrass tea they had, as well as the ginseng-coffee mix, I think. So good.
With the police around the corner, we decided to
head back to Ubud to avoid the trouble.
It was getting pretty chilly up there close to the volcano, so I wasn’t
entirely disappointed to head back to the warmth. I had forgotten any kind of long-sleeved
anything for warmth.
We stopped at a temple complex on the way home,
were given sarongs to wear inside, and we looked around. It was a big one! There were children swimming in the pool at
the temple, old men conversing, and offerings here and there in front of the
shrines.
 |
| One of many scary gods and devils that the Balinese Hindu tradition has everywhere |
 |
| The details on almost everything is absolutely gorgeous and makes Bali truly unique |
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| Wearing a sarong for modesty in the temple |
One of the most fun parts about traveling to new
places is when little kids use their English on you. We had a couple groups of kids yell an
excited hello to us and when we answered back, they all giggled and looked very
pleased with themselves.
We also went to the market where we got Joe a
“satchel,” which he likes to call his “murse” or “man purse.” We decided he needed to have something small
to carry with him so he could get his wallet, camera, and other items out quickly. It was plain black and did the trick. Someone asked the price of the hostel we were
staying at and we told her and she asked if we could show her where it
was. She followed us back home.
We returned the scooter to the hostel and sat on
our porch for a while. I went to bed
early. That’s me, the old woman who
can’t tolerate a late bedtime. I had a
headache though, so I think I have an excuse.
Joe socialized a bit more.
The next day we rented the scooter again and
drove to the monkey temple park, which was a reserve for the local monkeys! It’s hard to tell if the place was founded in
order to really help the monkeys, or if it was more to make money from tourists
by way of the monkeys. No matter. There were some neat ruins and temples inside
the park, and in the end, the biggest draw is in fact the monkeys. As long as they take care of them, I’m fine
with it. Cruelty to the monkeys and I
would not support it in the slightest.
There were plenty of monkeys just inside the
gate, including a momma with her baby clutching to her tummy fur. There was a moment where one of the little
monkeys started screeching like there was something wrong and the momma monkey
grabbed the young one and soothed it in a hug, just like a human momma would do
with an upset child. They were so eerily
human-like.
 |
| Momma and baby, lovely shot by Joe |
Near the end of the visit, there was an amphitheater where there were a few monkeys running around. One looked at me and came towards me, trying to get into my pocket, where my hand was firmly wrapped around my phone. The other monkeys had tried to pickpocket me already, so it wasn’t shocking by now. But then he started biting me wouldn’t leave me alone. One of the park rangers cursed at me and told me to take my hands out of my pockets, that I was causing the monkey to get upset by hiding something from it. I was not about to let him have my phone, and the ranger didn’t like that I wouldn’t pull my hand out of my pocket.
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| Cheeky little dude is looking in my pockets! |
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| He even helps himself and reaches right in. |
As a side note that will come in later on in the
Indonesian story: we saw a group of people speaking Spanish, one of whom was
limping painfully with a bandage on her leg.
On the way home we stopped and ate at a little
family residence front-room-turned restaurant.
The food was great. When we moved
on, it had turned to evening and the street lights were on.
On the way home from the monkeys, we stopped
where we knew we could go to a fire dance, one of the main attractions in
Ubud. Tickets were a bit expensive (I
have way too many currencies in my head now to even begin to remember the
approximate price), but we decided to do it anyway. Apparently all the tourists in the area
decided to do it that night too. Joe and
I were amused at how they kept trying to find more places for people to sit to
watch the show. And they did keep
finding more and more places for people to sit.
I at first thought we had gotten a bad spot in
the back corner, but as they added more and more people, including a row or two
of people sitting cross-legged in the front, I realized that being up so high
meant I could see over everyone, so our view was really quite good. The only scary part was that the chairs we
were sitting on fit pretty perfectly on two rails mounted four feet off the
ground—sitting so perfectly that it felt like one wrong move and the whole
thing would collapse.
So it was a good spot and a good show. It started off with some Balinese Hindu
dancing, with characters in masks. Their
hands moved very… easternly. I don’t
know how to really say it except that it looked like the sort of movement that
would come out of Southeast Asia. There
was a lot of physical flirtation between the characters dancing.
 |
| The characters dancing |
 |
| The fire of the fire dance |
What followed was a lot of spreading out of the
burning mass, dancing in and out of coals, kicking hot coals with his feet, and
then bringing the scattered bits in again.
It hurt to watch.
At the end of the show, the man sat in the middle
in front of the cordoned off live coal area that the helpers shrank. People got selfies with him, thanked him, and
he sort of just looked like he needed an Advil.
Maybe I am just projecting, but he definitely didn’t move and didn’t
even smile much. We waited for a while
and he still stayed seated in the same place.
I get the feeling that everyone who helps out with the show takes a turn
doing the fire bit and it hurts. It
almost seemed unfair that we got to watch him when it seemed like it was
hurting.
 |
| He didn't move as all the tourists filed out. His poor feet! |
We decided to have a taxi take us to Padangbai,
the little town where we could catch the public ferry to Lombok. We fought our way through the hawkers that we
had read would be all over us trying to sell us wildly overpriced tickets. We made it to the actual ticket office and
paid the sixty cents that the four hour ride across the straight would cost
us. Not bad at all! We loved doing things the local way.
We especially like it because it is an
experience. Fast boats for sure would
have been a faster way to get to the Gili Islands off the coast of Lombok, and
maybe even cheaper after all was said and done.
But it was so pleasant to hang out on the sun deck of a ferry. We chatted with a lovely German couple who
lazed up there like us.
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| The deck of the ferry and the perpetually hazy Indonesia sky |
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| Joe and his hopefully new friends, who ended up inviting a couple of girls to Flores instead of us. I don't think they noticed how beautiful Joe is. |
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| Sunset on the ferry |
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